


I Grieve

by Melime



Series: I Grive [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bombs, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Gen, Hallucinations, Murder, Post Season 1, Pre Season 2, Songfic, Translation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Melime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How could Sherlock continue his life after what happened that night? How could he continue living after losing his best friend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Grieve

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [I Grieve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/419251) by [Melime GreenLeaf (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Melime%20GreenLeaf). 



> The song is I Grieve by Peter Gabriel.

It was only one hour ago  
It was all so different then  
Nothing yet has really sunk in  
Looks like it always did  
This flesh and bone  
Is just the way that we are tied in  
But there's no one home

 

He was sitting in the ambulance, with that ridiculous orange blanket covering his shoulders. He ignored the questions from Lestrade, the same way that he ignored the paramedics that bandaged his arm. He still could not understand what happened, only that it was no use looking for Watson in the crowd. 

 

It was not yet one o'clock in the morning, but it seemed like an eternity had passed since the moment they approached the pool. For how long he punched the inert body of Moriarty? Not enough to appease his anger. If he had not been dragged away he would continue beating until he dissolved that bastard’s skull. 

 

He didn’t want to go back to his apartment and find it empty. He no longer knew how to live without the presence of John, without someone to remember him to do at least one meal a day, without someone who cared... 

 

I grieve for you  
And you leave me

 

He should have shot at the bomb when he had the chance. Maybe then everyone would have died, but that would be better than being the only one to survive. Apart from the shooter, of course. The gunman who fled when he realized that his boss was dead. The damn gunman who killed John Watson. 

 

He ran once he heard the shot, holding his friend's body before it reached the ground. It was too late, the bullet passed directly through the heart, death was instantaneous. He never felt as angry as he felt that day, he had never done anything so reckless as to attack Moriarty. Nothing else mattered, he not even felt the bullet that passed by and only grazed his arm. He beat that bastard until Lestrade came and dragged him away, despite knowing that he killed him shortly after the first blows.

 

Why John abandoned him? 

 

So hard to move on  
Still loving what's gone  
Say life carries on  
Carries on and on and on and on

 

He heard Anderson comment that John deserved to die for being friends with a psychopath. It was more than he could bear. He not even realized when he got up and ran toward that idiot, he just understood what he had done when he was dragged away from an unconscious and obviously injured Anderson, dragged back with the blood of another dirtying his hands. Perhaps Sergeant Donovan was right, maybe he was a dangerous murderer waiting to happen. Maybe Moriarty had awakened this killer. 

 

How should he continue with his life now? How could he go on living knowing what he caused John’s death? 

 

The news that truly shocks  
Is the empty, empty page  
While the final rattle rocks  
Its empty, empty cage  
And I can't handle this

 

He somehow managed to return home, though he didn’t remember who brought him there. He kept thinking of that crash, of the time when John's fate had been sealed. He cried that night, as he had never cried before, knowing that the house was empty and that nobody cared. Somehow, he knew he wasn’t able to bear it alone, he wasn’t able to bear that failure. His home was no longer a home, it was an empty cage, a prison of memories made to torture him. 

 

The great Sherlock Holmes, that could tell everything about a person just by looking at her for a moment, that could solve any mystery, that didn’t needed anyone! The great Sherlock Holmes, that wasn’t able to predict that bullet, that failed to save his friend, that could not bear to be alone! 

 

I grieve for you  
You leave me

 

Why John left him there alone? Didn’t he realized that he was not able to go on living like this? Didn’t he realized that life had no longer meaning? 

 

He was angry with John too. He felt angry because he had abandoned him, but mainly because he entered his life. Never before he needed friends, and now he discovered that he could not live without him. He hated the pain, the longing and the friendship. And he hated especially who created those feelings.

 

Let it out and move on  
Missing what's gone  
Say life carries on  
Say life carries on and on and on

 

Mycroft tried to console him, but there was no reason to listen. Nobody understood this pain, no one understood his suffering. Sherlock didn’t even move when his brother arrived nor offered any resistance when he was dragged from the floor to the couch. He could never forget, he could never move on. He knew he needed John, who lost his life that night. 

 

Life carries on in the people I meet  
In everyone that's out on the street  
In all the dogs and cats  
In the flies and rats  
In the rod and the rust  
In the ashes and the dust  
Life carries on and on and on and on  
Life carries on and on and on  
Life carries on and on and on and on  
Life carries on and on and on  
Just the car that we ride in  
The home we reside in  
The face that we hide in  
The way we are tied in  
As life carries on and on and on and on  
Life carries on and on and on

 

Eventually everyone returned to their normal lives, only he couldn’t return. The hours turned into days and days, into months. And he still couldn’t move on with his life. He wasn’t yet able to continue. Each taxi in the city, each apartment space, every police officer that he saw, everything reminded him of John. Alone he wasn’t able to forget. 

 

Did I dream this belief  
Or did I believe this dream  
Now I will find relief

 

Before long he returned to surrender to the addiction abandoned for years. Cocaine, seven percent. It was the only thing that allowed him to survive day after day. It was the only thing that sustained his illusions. He just had peace while under its effect. He loved the sweet hallucinations in which he saw John, he hated the nightmares that haunted him with the death of his friend. 

 

He no longer cared about the cases nor fleeing from boredom. All that mattered now was the boredom and the next dose, more and more cocaine. He needed the drug as he has never needed before, he needed her to believe in the dreams, in the hallucinations. He needed her to believe that John was alive. And only then he could find some relief. 

 

But the pain will never leave him.

 

I grieve

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if there's any mistakes with the translation.


End file.
